Dear 2019…
Actually, let’s not kid ourselves — you’re not dear to me at all. You’ve given me absolutely no reason to feel fondly toward you, and you don’t deserve to be remembered. But that’s entirely your own fault.
You’re the reason I’m left with a bitter taste in my mouth. You made sure one unpleasant thing followed another — and there haven’t been that many in the entire previous decade combined. No, you decided to collect them all into yourself. And for that I should thank you? Not a chance.
It wasn’t enough for you to make me spend a good chunk of time questioning my own worth, my confidence, and my purpose. It wasn’t enough that I spent the whole year teetering on the edge of feeling worthless, even though I fought against it with everything I had. It wasn’t enough when you decided to test our patience with all the uncertainty around staying here — in the life we built for ourselves, on our own terms, through all the struggle and the ups and the downs. You didn’t stop even when, instead of us, someone else decided that the apartment we lived in would soon no longer be our home, and we were forced to find a new one.
None of that was enough for you. You wanted to be remembered — just not for anything good.
I have nothing nice to say about you — even though you took us on a beautiful trip to Berlin near the very end. Now I understand it was your sneaky little move, letting us hope you weren’t quite as terrible as we thought. You waited treacherously for the final day to make your mark.
And then you put the cherry on top. The day before we were supposed to say a proper goodbye. Just when we’d finally relaxed, full of hope for a better year and a brighter decade, ready to bid you farewell forever. No, you couldn’t give us that. You had to strike where it hurts most — our health. And with that, you crossed every line.
Shame on you.
Shame on you for still peeking in now, even when you officially no longer exist, even as we count the days of a new chapter — showing up in the form of pain, hopelessness, anger, and grief.
Shame on you. And never come back.
F**k you, 2019.
S-Mama
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